Unlucky For Some
by DoctorAsh42
Summary: It's the 13th Doctor, but not the one you were expecting: The TARDIS arrives in the far future, where the remnants of humanity huddle inside atmospherically controlled domes. But there's something lurking in the snow, feeding on those society has chosen to ignore. Still recovering from his recent regeneration, it's up to the Doctor and two sly street-children to end the bloodshed.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is the first in a series of stories featuring an alternate 13th Doctor, whom I've dubbed the Othirteenth Doctor (Other+Thirteenth), based on Welsh actor Ioan Gruffudd. To read how this Doctor came into the world, check out my Alternate Twelfth Doctor Regeneration Scene. - DoctorAsh42**

It was cold. It was always cold. Fresh snow began to fall from the clouds, despite the fact that the plough-droids had barely finished clearing the roads after the last fall three days ago. Sometimes George thought that the Weather Bureau was actually trying to bury them all in snow, that way the government wouldn't have to worry about their complaining anymore.

Still, George didn't have time to worry about the snow at that moment, he had more important things to focus on.

He ran through the cobblestone streets as fast as his little legs would carry him. Well-to-do passersby clad in the finest clothes that Snowglobe 1 had to offer, shrieked and yelled as he darted between them, pushing by where necessary. He heard good ladies and gents scoff and call him a cutpurse or an urchin. He heard at least one of them call for a constable, but he didn't care, this was a matter of life and death.

Then he saw it and he came to a stop, nearly sliding in the slushy snow. There it stood on the street corner: a big, blue box that said 'Police Public Call Box' on the top.

He ran up to the box and began knocking on the door. "Hello," he called out, "is the doctor in there?"

There was no answer. Truth be told, he felt a bit daft knocking on the doors of a little cabin such as that. It was clearly no hospital or doctor's surgery, but still, he'd been told that this was where he could find the best doctor in the universe.

He knocked again. "Hello, I'm looking for a doctor! Please!"

Still no answer. George was about to give up and leave when the doors flew open without notice and a man leaned out, his hand raised and holding onto the doorway.

"Who's there?" said the man, before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Sorry, inside joke. And my jokes are much bigger on the inside." He giggled again. "Sorry, that was another one."

George wasn't sure what to think of the man. He looked old - well, old to George at least. But to be fair, all grown-ups looked old to him and he counted grown-ups as anyone older than his big sister, who was fourteen.

He wore a dark, tattered coat and waistcoat, but no tie or cravat around his neck, which was an odd sight for a distinguished gentleman such as a doctor. He looked confused and slightly manic and George came to realise that he was obviously just an old drunk; a quack who'd probably been living in this old hut after losing his medical license.

Still, he didn't have a choice.

"Sir, are you a doctor?"

"Young man, I'm not just _a _doctor, I'm _The_ Doctor! The original! The definite article, you might say." He shot his head up in realisation and then looked down and muttered, "Oh no, there I go again. Caught me by surprise, that one."

George couldn't believe that this was the man he was told to find.

"Sir, please, you must come with me right away!"

"Must I?" said The Doctor, genuinely confused. "Are you sure about that? Sorry, you see I'm still regenerating and my new brain hasn't settled down yet. It makes it very hard to remember what one must and must not do. Maybe I should start leaving notes for myself," he trailed off, muttering incoherently.

"Sir, it's my sister," said George, trying his level best to get the conversation back on track, "she's sick and she needs your help or else I fear she might die!"

"Well why didn't you say so!" shouted the man while crouching down and slapping both of George's shoulders. "If there's a life at stake then we really don't have time to be standing around dilly-dallying now, do we? You really must learn to get to the point boy, to be concise with your words, especially in moments of great crisis, such as this! Now come, let us away!"

The Doctor stepped out onto the street and immediately hugged his body and shivered. "Brrr! It is a bit chilly, isn't it? I'd best bundle up. Now, let's see..." he sucked a finger and held it up in the air. "Ah-ha, I'm getting a strong scent of 24th century, but with a heavy 19th century twist." His eyes sparkled and his mouth stretched into a grin. "I'll be right back," he said as he ran back through the doors."

"But sir, my sister!" yelled George.

"Don't worry, I'll be but a minute!" called The Doctor as the doors slammed shut.

* * *

An hour later The Doctor threw a purple frock coat on top of a large pile of clothing that had spread across a large portion of the Wardrobe Room's vast floor.

"No," he yelled as he threw a lime-green blazer shortly thereafter. "I need something regal; something dashing!" He held up a knitted vest covered in question marks, held it against his body briefly, as if he were entertaining the possibility of wearing it, then threw it away in disgust.

"No, no, no, no, no!" he yelled as he stormed over to the other side of the wardrobe. So far, the most he'd managed had been to change out of his old clothes and into a white, linen shirt with cuff-links and a wing collar and a pair of grey trousers, held up by a pair of button-on braces, covered in a red and grey diamond pattern.

"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed as he raced to a rack of waistcoats and pulled out a rather fetching purple number with a notched lapel and black horizontal zigzags running down it.

That's when the pieces really began to click into place. He strode over to some shelves of neckwear and began examining what the wardrobe had to offer. His last self hadn't been one for neckwear, but thankfully, it seemed as though that had been rectified.

His hand hovered over a collection of bow-ties for a moment, before moving on to a selection of cravats. He poked his tongue out in concentration, before settling on a purple one that matched his waistcoat.

Draping the cravat around his neck, he walked over to a mirror, where he caught himself by surprise.

"Good Lord, who are you? I demand to know how you got into my TARDIS! Oh," he said looking around, "is that me? Blimey."

He took a few steps closer, examining his new face in great detail. "Well, I cut a rather handsome figure, don't I?" he said turning his head so that he could see it from every angle. "It has a kind of roguish charm to it, doesn't it?" he said, rubbing the stubble of his chin. "And what's that accent, is that Welsh? About time, I suppose." He opened his mouth wide and began stretching and contorting his face in all manner of ways. "Yes. Yes, I think this will do quite nicely."

Satisfied, he returned to the matter of tying the cravat around his neck and fastened it in place with a golden dinosaur-shaped pin, which he procured from a small drawer.

Next he pulled on a pair of grey socks with burgundy diamonds on them. They were warm and snug – perfect! They were soon followed by a pair of brown, leather dress shoes, although it took him a moment to find his new shoe size. They were in turn covered by a pair of white cotton spats with black buttons.

"Right," he said, patting at his stomach, "what next?" He looked down at his waistcoat, where his hands were resting and smiled. "Of course!"

He walked over to a cabinet filled with small drawers – the same place that he'd retrieved his cravat pin and cuff-links from. The whole thing was filled with rings, watches and other jewellery, sparkling with gold and silver.

He spent a few moments browsing the contents of the cabinet before settling on a beautiful, antique silver pocket-watch with a double-Albert chain. He fastened the T-bar to his waistcoat and slipped the watch into one of his pockets. He fished out his TARDIS key from his trouser pocket, attached it to the other end of the chain and then slipped that into his other waistcoat pocket.

"Perfect," he said, patting the bulging shape of the watch. "Now..."

He skirted by the pile of discarded clothes on the floor and went to a rack of coats. He pulled out a grey frock coat with maroon piping on the lapels that matched his trousers and slipped it on.

"A perfect fit!" he said before moving to examine himself in the mirror. "Yes," he said, turning to each side, "the perfect look for the man about time."

He completed the look with a black top-hat with a burgundy band and then went over to a bucket by the door that contained all manner of canes, walking-sticks and umbrellas. He picked up an umbrella with a red question-mark handle, shook his head and then put it back down. Then he picked up a brown, twisted, wooden walking-stick, tested its strength for a bit, but then returned that too. Finally, he settled on a simple black dress cane with a silver orb on top.

He leaned on it to test it out and then gave it a twirl. "Excellent!"

But then he remembered just how could it was outside, so he started looking for something that would keep him warm. He picked up a long, multi-coloured scarf and stared at it for the longest time, like he was in a dilemma. After much deliberation he returned the scarf and said, "Sorry old girl, not this time."

Then he saw a black Inverness cape and grabbed onto it with great eagerness. "Oh, now it's been a while since I've worn one of these," he said excitedly.

He pulled the cape on and then walked back to the mirror and examined himself in his full glory, striking a very regal pose. "Excellent!" he said. "After all, what's the point in being a Time _Lord _if you're not going to dress like one?"

Suddenly, his eyes bulged as if he'd just remembered something terribly important. "The child!" he yelled. He raced out of the wardrobe, grabbing an old black, leather medical bag along the way.

He practically slid back into the console room and slammed into the console, striking a series of buttons and then slamming down a lever. The TARDIS gave a shuddering sound, like it was trying to take off, but then settled back down.

Technically, performing a temporal displacement wasn't a wise thing to do, but The Doctor had thought it the best way for him to be afforded the time to change into something better suited to his new personality, while not wasting any of this dying girl's time. Essentially, the interior dimensions of the TARDIS had been shunted back to an earlier point – the point at which he'd first raced back into the ship. This meant that when he opened those doors, it would be an hour into the past and nobody on the outside would have noticed a thing.

He'd only done it once before and for much the same reason, after his third regeneration. He only hoped that this boy would be more impressed than the Brigadier had been.

"Ta-da!" said The Doctor, bursting out of the TARDIS' doors, hat in one hand, cane in the other and arms held out like a great showman. "What do you think?"

"Yes, yes, much better," said the boy, "now please sir, come with me!" With that, he ran back into crowded streets.

"Really?" sighed The Doctor. "Does nobody appreciate showmanship anymore?"

With that, he picked up his medical bag, locked the TARDIS behind him and ran out after the boy.

* * *

Walter Matheson breathed into his hands and rubbed them together, trying to keep them warm. He knew that it was pointless, but it was almost a reflex at this point.

He was a well-built man in his fifties, with skin the colour of charcoal. He was crouching down in a small alleyway with snow banked up all around him. He looked up at the fresh flakes that were beginning to fall and shuddered, his ragged clothes offering very little protection against the cold.

Slowly, he stood up, his joints aching and creaking all the way. He'd have to find some shelter if he wanted to survive another night of snowfall.

"Damn Weather Bureau," he muttered.

Then he felt something bite the back of his neck and he immediately smacked it. He looked at his gloved palm but couldn't see anything.

"Mosquitoes?" he said confused.

Then he felt another bite, on his face this time. He smacked his cheek, but still he couldn't see any evidence of what was attacking him. He looked up and all around him, but there was nothing to be seen in the air besides the steadily falling snow.

"Ouch!" he yelled as he felt another bite, much more painful than the previous two.

"Ouch!" there was another one.

And another...

And another...

Soon he was gritting his teeth and groaning in pain as he felt hundreds of little bites dancing all over his body. He spun around patting himself all over, but he couldn't stop it.

Panicking, he ripped his coat off and threw it to the ground, then his shirt. Soon, he was completely naked and exposed there in the cold, but he barely even noticed because of all the pain.

He kept smacking at his skin until he realised something in disbelief. The snow: it was sticking to his skin. Not only that, it was slowly covering him.

He screamed as he tore at the snow, but every handful of powder that he wrenched away, was quickly replaced by more of its kind.

He dropped to his knees, driven down by pain, exhaustion and the sheer weight of the snow. Then he was on all fours, his face the only part of him still exposed.

He screamed in agony, but was quickly cut off as the snow began to slide into his mouth and down his throat.

There was nothing left of Walter Matheson, just a grotesque snowman, frozen in terror. But soon that was also gone, as the form inside the snow vanished and the snow burst into a puff of powder, drifting to the ground below.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor did his best to squeeze through the crowd without being too rude, all the while trying to keep an eye on the boy.

"Medical emergency, sorry!" he called, holding up his medical bag as proof.

He saw snowflakes begin to fall and suddenly he stopped in his tracks, much to the chagrin of those around him.

He stared at the little crystals in amazement – there was something not quite right about them.

"Hello," he murmured, "what are you?"

"Doctor!" yelled George, standing on the other side of the street.

The Doctor snapped out of his little trance and said, "Right, yes, coming!" before continuing on after the boy.

He led him to an old, abandoned building in a quieter part of town. There was hardly anybody on the street here and those that were, wore dirty and ragged clothes and the marks of hardship on their faces. Makeshift dwellings were set up at irregular intervals, mixed among buildings that were either condemned or in need of being so.

Without breaking from his sprint, George dropped to the ground and slid in the snow, right through a small basement window set at ground level.

"Oh, that looks like fun," beamed The Doctor as he also dropped to the ground and slid.

George landed on the mattress that they'd set out beneath the window, bounced up and brushed himself off. He always felt quite impressed with himself when he pulled off that manoeuvre.

He heard a crashing sound, followed by a pained scream and turned back to see a silhouette pressed against the small window. There was some muttering and the sound of crunching snow as the figure clambered to its feet, before disappearing with the sound of crunching footsteps.

George sighed and ran upstairs to go and let The Doctor in. When he got to the front door, he could already see his top-hat-wearing silhouette through the frosted glass on the door. He could also hear a strange buzzing sound, followed by an irritated groan and, "Over two-thousand years and I still haven't found a way to make you work on wood!"

George unlocked the door and saw The Doctor yelling at a blue device of some sort – almost like a wizard's wand. He looked up and beamed at George. "Ah, you must be my patient, that lad's big sister," he said, pointing the wand at George and scanning him with it. "What seems to be the problem?"

George pushed the glowing, buzzing wand out of his face and said, "I _am_ that lad - George."

"Oh," said The Doctor, looking a tad embarrassed. He stuffed the wand back into a coat pocket. "Terribly sorry."

George sighed and said, "Follow me."

He led The Doctor into the house and towards the door to the basement.

"You've redecorated. I don't like it," said The Doctor drily.

"What?" asked George, looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, not to worry, Brigadier, just a bit of post-regenerative confusion, I'll be right as rain in no time."

George was really starting to regret this decision.

They went down to the basement, which was rather small and cramped and not altogether warm, but it was still better than the upstairs and much better than the outside.

George bounded down the last few stairs and ran for an old red curtain that had been strung up over a corner.

"Over here," he yelled, before disappearing through the makeshift partition.

The Doctor followed suit and found George kneeling by a soiled mattress, atop which laid a young girl – no more than fourteen or fifteen – bundled up under a few threadbare blankets. She looked cold and clammy.

George was holding her hand tightly and said softly, "Alicia, it's OK, I found him. I found the doctor." He turned to The Doctor and said, "Please, you have to help her, please!"

The Doctor set his medical bag down and crouched down next to George, pulling out his sonic screwdriver.

"Hello," he said warmly. "Alicia, is it? Hello, Alicia, I'm The Doctor. What seems to be the trouble?"

"C-cold," she muttered. "T-tired." Her voice was soft and muffled, since she was practically in the foetal position.

"Alright, Alicia, I'm just going to give you a quick medical scan," he said as he began to run the screwdriver up and down the length of her body.

He frowned as he looked at the results. "Hmm...Some mild exposure and malnutrition, but nothing too bad. Let's have a listen to that chest," he said, reaching back for his medical bag. He felt around for a bit, but couldn't find it.

Surprised, he looked back and found that both the bag and the boy had vanished. "What the blazes?" he said.

He turned back in time to see the miraculously recovered Alicia, standing above him with a fire extinguisher held above her head.

"Oh dear," he said as she brought the solid, red canister down on his head with a skull-cracking thud.

The world spun and then everything went black.

"Sorry, Doc," came Alicia's voice through the void, "nothing personal."

Then there was the sound of silence.

* * *

Klaus Kauffman was a tall, slender man in his mid-fifties with neat, greying hair, large glasses and dressed in a stylish black skivvy and trousers. He stared out from the large, circular window of his office, mesmerised by the beauty that was unfolding outside.

Snow was falling all over the city, covering the streets and buildings in a blanket of the most pure and sublime substance known to man. There was a purity to snow that Klaus found utterly fascinating.

As a boy, he had never known snow. He'd grown up in the scorched deserts of the German wastelands, barely even knowing water. He supposed that had been where his obsession with snow had sprung from; why he'd been driven to found the Weather Bureau and create the Snowglobe System.

"Sir, your two o'clock is here."

He looked over his shoulder at his assistant, Claudia. She was a fair woman whose features had a delicate, almost crystalline nature to them and whose hair and skin were as white as...well, it wouldn't be hard to guess why he found her appealing.

"Very good," he said softly, before turning his attention back towards the window. "See that we aren't disturbed."

Claudia nodded lightly and left the room, the clacking of her heels signalling her departure.

Klaus closed his eyes and smiled as he felt a slight chill embrace the room.

"Welcome, my darling," he said. He turned around to face a hooded figure standing just inside the doorway. They had entered without a sound and they stood unnaturally still.

"Please," he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk.

The figure glided – literally glided – across the floor, coming to a rest in front of the desk, but they didn't sit. As they had come closer, Klaus had been able to hear a soft clinking sound, like tiny shards of glass tinkling in the wind.

"I trust you're feeling well fed?" asked Klaus.

"It's not enough," replied the figure, clearly a woman judging by the voice. There was something strange about it, though; it resonated in a strange way that gave it an ethereal quality.

For the first time since the figure had entered the room, Klaus frowned.

"My dear, we're already moving more swiftly than we originally planned. Right now the disappearances have only been noticed by the street urchins and vagabonds, but if we accelerate any further then others will begin to notice. A few individuals disappearing from the fringes of society may go unnoticed, but an entire class of people vanishing, even on the peripheral, will not."

"That is not of our concern," replied the figure. "We must feed."

Klaus was about to make a rebuttal, but he caught himself. Instead, he smiled and took a few steps closer to the figure.

"My dear, let us not fight. Have I not taken care of you? Have I not fulfilled every promise that I have made?"

The figure was silent for a moment, before replying with, "Yes."

"Then trust me, darling. Here," he said grabbing hold of her hood, "let me look at you."

He pulled back the hood and revealed, not a woman, but what could only be described as a flurry of ice crystals, dancing in human form.

Klaus smiled at the sight; his heart racing.

Millions upon millions of crystals had arranged themselves in a vaguely human, vaguely feminine form, like a half-formed shadow or silhouette. It was an incomplete form though, looking as though someone had thrown snowballs at an invisible woman.

Suddenly there was a gasp of shock and both Klaus and the Ice Lady turned to see Claudia standing in the doorway. Several files were strewn on the floor, obviously dropped in shock.

Klaus sighed and tilted his head. "Oh Claudia, why didn't you knock? I really was fond of you, you know."

Claudia's wide eyes shifted between Klaus and the Ice Lady. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Kauffman. I just...I'll see myself out," she said as she knelt down to scoop up the files.

Klaus gave a sad smile and turned to the Ice Lady. "You may feed," he said, giving a shallow nod.

There was an ear-piercing screech and the Lady dissolved into a miniature snowstorm, funnelling out of the robe's sleeves and collar and spiralling towards Claudia. It sounded like thousands of glass wind chimes being swept up by a tornado.

Claudia looked up in absolute terror and screamed as the vortex of carnivorous ice flew towards her; a grotesque impression of a face with its mouth open wide, etched into the forefront of the maelstrom.

She felt millions of pinpricks as countless shards of ice hit her at once and then, everything went dark.

* * *

The Doctor groaned as he slowly came to. His head was throbbing, but it wouldn't take long to heal, given that he was still in the midst of regeneration.

Everything was still dark, but he could hear voices talking rapidly and there was a strange pressure on his arms that was terribly uncomfortable.

"Bill," he groaned as he blinked back into consciousness, "Nardole?"

"He's awake!" came one of the voices – a boy's. "Hit him again!"

"Are you crazy?" came another voice – that of an older girl. "We don't want to kill him."

His vision returned, first as a blur of indistinct shapes, then as clearer, more precise images.

A young boy and a teenage girl were both standing in front of him, though clearly keeping their distance. She had long, dark hair and wore a shabby dress and heavy boots. He had messy, sandy hair and looked like he should have been selling newspapers on a street corner. They both looked wary.

The Doctor's medical bag was open by their feet, its contents strewn across the floor.

"What do you," he began to say, trying to stand, before realising that he was tied to a pipe, with his arms behind his back. "What?"

"You weren't supposed to wake up so quickly," said the girl, Alicia. She sounded irritated, as if it were the height of rudeness for somebody to regain consciousness before their captor was ready for them.

"Yes, well," said The Doctor groggily, "regeneration; still in the middle of the cycle."

"What's he talking about?" asked George.

"Don't worry about him," said Alicia, "you said he was loony, the knock on the head won't have done 'im any good. Come on, let's get outta here."

They began picking up some of the items from The Doctor's bag, and stuffing them in their pockets.

"Why can't we just take the whole bag?" asked George as he tried to wind a stethoscope up into a tight, little ball.

"Because, stupid, if we walk around with a shiny leather doctor's bag, people will know we pinched it. We need to be discrete-like if we wanna hock this stuff."

"This was all a ruse," said The Doctor, "catching on. You're not sick; this was all just an elaborate set-up to rob me."

"He's a quick one alright," said Alicia as she crammed some bandages into her dress pockets.

"But, how did you know how to find me? You came to the TARDIS, why would you look for a doctor in an old Police Box?"

"Not really any of your concern," said Alicia.

"A man told us," said George.

Alicia rolled her eyes. "Good one, George."

"A man?" repeated The Doctor, confused. "What man? Who could have known that I'd be here? _I _didn't even know that."

"Sorry, Mister," said Alicia, cramming one last pack of sutures down her blouse, "we got no more time for questions. Come on George."

"Just a tic, sis," George said as he shoved a handful of lollipops underneath his flat cap. "Alright, let's go."

At this point The Doctor noticed his sonic screwdriver poking out from the pocket of George's waistcoat. It looked enormous compared to the small boy.

"My screwdriver!" yelled The Doctor as he struggled against his bonds.

George looked down at the device in his pocket and smiled. "Oh yeah, thanks for the wand, wizard. It looks right-useful."

They both turned away from The Doctor without another word and headed for the stairs, their movements a tad awkward due to the ill-gotten gains that weighed down their clothing.

"Wait!" yelled The Doctor. "You can't just leave me here like this!"

George just smiled and kept moving up the stairs, but Alicia actually stopped and looked back down at The Doctor.

"Alicia, what are you doing?" asked George.

"He's right," she said, descending the stairs and crossing the floor towards The Doctor.

"Ah, yes, very good. Common sense prevails," said The Doctor, sitting up a little straighter.

Alicia stopped in front of him, crouched down and reached towards him. However, instead of untying his bonds, she unhooked his shiny, silver pocket-watch from his waistcoat.

"Can't leave this behind," she said smiling, "it'll fetch a pretty penny."

The Doctor was gobsmacked. "Nikola Tesla gave me that watch!"

She just smiled. "Bye-bye," she said with a wave, before dashing back up the stairs.

"Sorry, Mister," called George as they disappeared from sight, "we gotta eat!"

The Doctor couldn't believe what had just happened. What a fine way to start a new life.

"Come back here you little scamps," he yelled, "right this instant! If you don't, I'll...I'll...I'll be very cross!"

He heard the front door slam shut.

"That's it!" he called. "You've both just earned yourselves a time-out!"


	3. Chapter 3

George giggled as he and Alicia spilled out into the snowy street, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

"That was wicked, sis!" he yelled. "We got him hook, line and sinker!"

"Pipe down, George!" Alicia said firmly. "We don't want to attract attention." Despite herself, a smile found its way through her tough facade. "Mind you, he was a pretty easy mark, weren't he? I mean, he was even more gullible than the usual rich lot."

They both began laughing joyfully as they stepped out onto the road, so much so that they failed to notice the sentry droid hovering right in front of them.

"What's all this, then?" said the droid, which sounded like an old English bobby.

The children gasped, startled by the robot, which looked like a floating, upside-down silver egg, with two retractable arms that each ended in a set of three-pronged claws. Atop its head was an old-fashioned policeman's helmet and beneath that there was a set of dark eyes, with two red lights inside, and an oversized, arch-shaped frown. The I.D. tag on its chest identified it as Constable Brenton.

"We was just out for a stroll," stuttered Alicia, trying to avoid eye-contact.

"Is that so, is it?" asked the droid. Its eyes zoomed in with a mechanical whirring sound. "What's in your pockets, then?"

George shot a look at his big sister, who did her best to remain calm.

"Our pockets, officer?" asked Alicia, sweetly. "Why, just some sweets that we got from our Nanna. We was just visiting her, you see."

"Yeah, see?" George piped up, producing a lollipop from beneath his cap.

"And some first-aid supplies that we picked up from Doc' Orson's," she said, showing the droid a roll of bandages.

"Everything alright here?" asked another droid, as it floated over to investigate the situation. It was identical to the first one, save for the fact that its tag identified it as Constable Nesbitt.

"I'm in the processes of determining that, Constable Nesbitt," Brenton said, with a somewhat bitter edge.

"Alright, alright, steady-on, no need to get narky," said Nesbitt. "I was merely investigating a possible 4-01K. That's officer in distress."

"I know what the code means," snapped Brenton. "Why do you always need to treat me like some sort of brain-dead toaster?"

"Oi, steady-on, we need to be professional-like in front of civilians." Nesbitt turned his attention to George and Alicia. "Now, what do we have here, then?"

Alicia opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Constable Brenton.

"Well, they claim to be carrying sweets and medical supplies, obtained from their dear, sweet Nanna and one Dr. Orson, but the veracity of their statements have yet to be determined."

Alicia opened her mouth again, but this time she was interrupted by Constable Nesbitt. "Well, that seems reasonable enough – after all, we haven't had any reports of robberies from any doctors, nor confectioners." With that, his eyes turned blue and his large, arch-shaped frown flipped upside down, turning into a large, arch-shaped smile.

"Thank-you, Sir," said Alicia, "we'll be on our way."

"Hang on," said Brenton, holding an arm out to prevent them from leaving. "That's a bit of a conclusion to jump to," he said, turning to Nesbitt. "I mean, you'd hardly call that thorough policing now, would you? And as I am the lead investigator on this here case, I think that more evidence is required."

"Nothing I do is ever good enough for you," said Nesbitt, his face returning to its angry setting once more. "Ever since the Academy, you've had it in for me, just because I dropped you on your head one time."

George and Alicia shared a look and began to edge past the arguing droids very carefully. Neither one seemed to notice.

"Well, if you weren't so heavy, we'd have passed that emergency rescue course with flying colours!" retorted Brenton.

Taking a chance, Alicia and George bolted through the snow. Alicia chanced a look back and saw the two droids still hovering there, squawking like an old married couple.

"Stupid droids," she laughed.

The Doctor rocked, fidgeted and shuffled around, trying his level best to break his bonds, but all he succeeded in doing was to knock over some old boxes that had been stored overhead.

He hung his head in disbelief and shook his head. "Ogrons, Axons, Daleks – all walks in the park. But two human children? Oh, now there's The Doctor's downfall."

Suddenly he noticed something that had fallen out of one of the boxes. It was a small device with a red handle, which The Doctor quickly identified as a LASER scalpel.

Slouching down, he stretched his left leg out as far as he could, hooking the scalpel with his foot. He kicked it towards himself and caught it against his right leg. Then, sitting up straight, he brought his legs up and grabbed hold of the device between the heels of his shoes.

"And Ace said that those contortionist lesions would never come in handy," he said triumphantly.

He accidently tapped the button on the scalpel and sent a searing beam of red light slicing through the ceiling, causing debris to fall all about the place.

"Oops," he said flatly. "Best be careful."

With a great deal of effort and concentration, he manipulated the scalpel until it was pointing at him. Or more accurately, pointing at the ropes that bound him.

He hoped that his addled mind would prove focused enough to get this right, otherwise he might be getting a new body before he'd even adjusted to this one.

Then, with a deep breath to steady himself, he squeezed the button on the scalpel and did his level best to remain perfectly still as a red-hot LASER sliced through the air towards him.

The instant it hit the ropes, he released the button, stopping the beam from cutting any further. He smiled as the ropes split in half and slid harmlessly to the floor.

"Excellent!" he yelled as he sprang to his feet. Though his smile slipped when he looked down and realised that there was a slight scorch mark on his waistcoat. "Hmm, yes, well, easily mended, I'm sure. Still," he said, clapping his hands together, "better you than me."

He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "I have the strangest feeling that I should be attending to a matter of utmost urgency...

"The children!" he said, suddenly. "When I get a hold of those little scamps, well, they'll be given a stern talking to! I daresay, even a good lecturing!"

He made for the stairs, but then stopped and ran back to pick up his bag and hat, which had fallen by the wayside. He saw the scalpel lying on the floor and decided to pocket that too, given that he didn't even have his trusty screwdriver right now.

Then he was off, up the stairs and ready to reprimand two seriously naughty youngsters.

"I'll give you ten quid for it."

"Come on," said Alicia, "look at this thing, it's got to be worth hundreds, if not thousands!"

She held the strange device – the wizard's wand as George had dubbed it – discretely, trying not to draw attention to themselves. They were in a pawn shop – a grubby little place in the roughest part of town, owned by one Mr. P.R. Grunkleskin – a fat, unwashed man with a rough, bristly beard and a big, red nose. He was also a well-known fence.

He sat behind the counter, reclining lazily with his dirty hands resting atop his expansive belly. His clothes were putrid and his greasy, black hair poked out like straw beneath an old tricorn hat.

There were a few other customers in the shop – hence the discretion – but they probably wouldn't pay them too much attention. People tended to mind their own business in this part of town.

"Ten," reaffirmed Grunkleskin. "I ain't payin' top dollar for somethin' when I don't know what it is. That's just bad business sense."

Alicia frowned and clenched her jaw. "Fine," she said, stuffing the device back down her blouse. "Then what about the medical supplies?"

Grunkleskin scratched his chin as he looked at the assortment of items that lay atop the counter. He reached over and lazily picked up an old stethoscope.

"Mmm...fifty for the lot," he said nonchalantly.

"You have got to be kidding!" snapped Alicia.

He shrugged, "Well, unless you want to throw in somethin' a little extra to sweeten the pot." He gave a smile that made her want to throw up and her skin positively crawled as his eyes moved up and down the length of her body.

That was it.

"Come on, George, we're leaving," she said as she began stuffing the medical supplies back into her pockets.

George, who was wandering around the shop, examining the various trinkets for sale, quickly rushed to her side.

"Everything alright, Sis?" he asked, eyeing the obscene man behind the counter.

"Everything's fine George, we just need to find a more fair and classy establishment to do business with."

She gave Grunkleskin one final, scathing look before they turned and headed for the door.

"You'll be back," laughed Grunkleskin, "I'm the best deal in town love. Pretty little thing like you can't afford to be choosey, you know."

They slammed the door behind them as they exited into the snow-covered street, the little bell that sat atop it threatening to fly off.

"Well, that was a waste of time," moaned Alicia. "What a filthy little grub – we're never doing business with him again." She sighed. "The worst part is, he's right - he is the best deal in town. No other fence is gonna treat us any better."

"Don't worry, Sis," said George with a smile, "it wasn't a complete waste of time."

He opened up his hands, revealing an assortment of items.

"George Winston Newbury, you should be ashamed of yourself!" It was hard to take her seriously when she couldn't even keep the smile from her face.

Deciding to drop the angry sister facade, she put an arm around him and pulled him in close as they continued to trudge through the snow.

"Where'd you learn to be such a little sneak-thief?"

"I learned from the best," he said, smiling up at her.

She shook her head, laughing. "Is that a finger from a Cyberman?" she asked.

"Looks like," said George, examining a segmented, metal appendage.

"Nice," she said. "That'll fetch a pretty penny."

"Can I have the wand back?" George asked with a big smile.

Alicia rolled her eyes and removed the strange blue device from her blouse and handed it to her brother. "Just don't get attached to it, we'll be shifting it as soon as we can get a good price for it."

Suddenly she felt something bite her neck and slapped the spot instinctively.

"Ouch!"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, looking at her gloved hand, "must have been a mosquito or somethin'."

It was only now that she became aware of the steady snowfall that had seemingly begun out of nowhere.

"It wasn't snowing a minute ago, was – Ouch!"

"Alicia, what's – Ouch! Something bit me," said George.

They parted and were both twisting around, looking this way and that.

"Must be – Ouch! – a swarm of – Ouch!"

"Sis, I don't – Ouch!"

They were smacking themselves all over as the tiny bites became more and more frequent. They were beginning to panic.

"George, we can't stay out here, we need – Ouch! – to get inside!"

"Where? Ouch!"

"I don't know – Ouch! – just hold my – Ouch! – hand!"

They began to run through the streets, screaming and shrieking all the way. The snowfall was becoming denser though and soon they could barely see a metre in front of them. Combined with the increasing levels of pain they were feeling, they didn't make it very far before they both fell to their knees.

Alicia grabbed hold of George and buried him deep into her bosom, trying her best to shield him.

"Alicia, I'm scared! Ouch! Ouch!"

"It's going to be OK George, just – Ouch! – just keep your head down!"

The flurry was deafening and now it seemed as though it was purely concentrated on them – their own personal snow storm of death.

Tears ran down Alicia's face as she did her best to bite back the pain, trying to be strong for her brother.

She soon realised that the snow was actually eating its way through her clothes and she could feel parts of her back becoming directly exposed to the millions upon millions of pin-pricks.

It was all too much for them to bear any longer and they both began screaming into the night air.


	4. Chapter 4

"The boy was about yay big and the girl, this big," The Doctor said, using his hands to display the height of the children he was looking for. "Or was it the other way around?" he mused, looking off with a thoughtful expression.

The shopkeeper with whom he was conversing, clearly didn't care for the conversation anymore and so closed the shutters of his little hut, which had the word 'closed' painted across them.

"Well, that was rude," said The Doctor.

Suddenly his ears pricked up as he heard the distinct sound of children screaming. Without a second's hesitation, he began running in the direction of the screams, pushing his way through an infuriatingly uncaring crowd.

He found himself in a quiet little side street, where he saw something unbelievably unsettling. On the plus side, he'd found George and Alicia. On the down side, they were trapped in the centre of some sort of highly concentrated snow storm and judging by the blood, it was ravenous.

"Help!" They called out to nobody in particular, their voices distorted by the snow storm.

The Doctor ran towards the icy vortex, but stopped with a cringe of pain as he felt something bite his cheek.

He reacted by slapping his cheek and then examining the small cluster of snowflakes that were left stuck to his palm. He looked up at the flurry, the children's voices calling out in pain, and his newly rebooted brain finally kicked into gear.

"Of course!" He exclaimed. "I knew there was something wrong with the snow."

He made another attempt to run into the maelstrom, but once again was driven back by the sudden pain of dozens of tiny bites. He grunted in pain and frustration.

Peering through the snow, he saw Alicia hunkered down on the ground, holding George tightly against her chest. Sticking out of George's pocket was something long and blue – his sonic screwdriver.

"Yes, of course!" he said, excited. He cupped his hands around his mouth and did his best to call over the carnivorous ice. "George! George! My screwdriver; throw me my screwdriver!"

Inside the vortex of ice, George and Alicia chanced a look up as they heard a distorted voice reaching out to them. They couldn't believe it when they saw the barmy doctor standing there. He was asking for a screwdriver – he really was mental.

"The wand," he called. "Give me my wizard's wand!"

Alicia couldn't believe it, they were being eaten alive and he was worried about his trinket?

"Oh blast," said The Doctor, realising that he wasn't getting anywhere. He loosened his shoulders and yelled, "Here we go!" before diving into the vortex and shielding the children with his body.

As soon as he entered the snow storm, he felt his body being assaulted by hundreds of thousands of tiny sets of teeth. Almost worse than that, the noise was deafening. It was like a chorus of banshees trapped in a blender.

Clenching his teeth to bite back the pain and squinting to see through the flurry, he located his screwdriver and plucked it from George's pocket.

"Stay close to me, children!" he bellowed as he fiddled with the settings on the screwdriver, trying to find the right frequency. "Come on, come on," he grunted through grit teeth.

The children kept burrowing further and further into him, so much so that he had to adjust his position so as to avoid falling over. He pushed all thoughts of the pain to the back of his mind as he kept adjusting the frequency of the screwdriver. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his cape was slowly disappearing and if the gale ruffling his hair was anything to go by, his hat was long gone.

"Aha!" he yelled in excitement, as the screwdriver emitted a high-pitched whine that caused the snowflakes to start moving in jagged, irregular patterns, reverberating the sound through their crystalline structures.

The children covered their ears and cringed, but the Doctor filed it away with all of the other pain that he was far too busy to deal with at that moment.

Snowflakes began to attack the screwdriver now, eating away at its casing.

"Oh no you don't," he grunted as he adjusted the frequency even further.

There was a screech that bordered on the audible range of human hearing and then with one final jolt, the snowflakes just stopped in mid-air, hovered for a moment and then fell peacefully to the ground.

The Doctor closed his eyes and whispered, "Excellent."

He opened them in time to see the remains of his hat plopping down in a mound of slush.

"Oh, bother," he said, frowning. Then he picked it up, dusted it off and stuck it back on his head. He gripped the children by their shoulders and said, "Are either of you hurt?"

"I don't think so," said George.

"Are you sure?" asked Alicia, looking at her brother with great concern.

George smiled. "Don't worry sis, just a few cuts and bruises, I should think."

Alicia smiled and hugged him tightly.

The tender scene warmed both of the Doctor's hearts and brought a smile to his face. He adjusted his gnawed screwdriver to a medical setting and waved it over the embracing siblings.

"A little worse for ware," he said, examining the device, "but nothing that some Iodine and a hot meal won't fix."

He stood up and gave himself a onceover, accessing the damage. He was disheartened to see that his cape was in tatters. "I was really hoping that capes could be in again," he said sadly. "Maybe this is a sign." He removed it and wrapped it around Alicia's back, covering the part of her dress that had been worn through. She flinched at first, but then gingerly accepted it.

The rest of his clothes were more or less alright and the few gashes that were on his face, hands and neck were already healing over with the glow of residual regeneration energy – one of the perks of still being in the first twelve hours of the cycle.

The siblings broke their hug and stood up, looking at the Doctor.

"I suppose we should thank you," said Alicia with uncertainty.

"Think nothing of it," he said dismissively. "Although, I think that I'll take this back as payment," he said, shaking the sonic screwdriver. "Along with my other possessions."

Alicia and George shared an uncertain look. Those medical supplies were their meal ticket, but they couldn't deny that they owed him now.

"What was that?" asked George. "Since when does snow eat people?"

"That wasn't snow," said the Doctor. "He crouched down and scooped up a fist full of powder, examining it as he let it drain through his loose fist.

"Well, what is then?" asked Alicia, being sure to keep George close.

"Some sort of sentient crystalline structure, I should think," he said. He gave the powder a quick pass with the sonic screwdriver and nodded. "Interesting."

"What?" asked both the children in near-unison.

"The individual flakes seem to use sonic resonance to emit a low-level psychic field that connects them all together. Don't worry, it's inert now; I used my sonic screwdriver to disrupt the resonance required to generate the field." He flicked out the blue device and frowned. "Although, they certainly gave as good as they got. I might have to replace the casing, or build a new screwdriver entirely. I'm certainly not going back to sunglasses again, that's for sure," he said indignantly.

"Well," said Alicia uncertainly, "thanks again Mister, but we'd best be off."

"Hmm? What?" said the Doctor, surprised. "But aren't you the least bit curious? You were just very nearly eaten by a killer snowstorm, don't you want to find out what's going on? I know I certainly do."

"He does 'ave a point Sis," said George, looking up at her. "Queer happenings like this don't come along very often, when are we gonna get the chance to do something like this again?"

The Doctor pointed at George excitedly, "That's right Polly, listen to Ben."

Alicia cocked her head in confusion, but otherwise ignored him.

"George, this is none of our business. Besides, I'm not putting you in 'arm's way again, we need to get you in off the streets before it gets dark. And before another one of them snowstorms whips up."

"Aww, come on Sis," pleaded George.

"Yes, come on Sis," mimicked the Doctor as he crouched down next to George and made a pleading expression.

Alicia shook her head, what was wrong with this man?

"What's your game anyway, Mister?" she said, hands planted firmly upon her hips. "What do you want to be doin' galavantin' round with a little boy and his big sister?"

"Local knowledge, of course!" he said as he sprang to his feet, sending powder everywhere. "There's a mystery to be solved and you two are my only points of contact. Besides, I'm in a new body, new me, new town and you're the only friends that I've got."

George and Alicia looked at each other.

"Friends?" questioned George. "We tried to rob you."

"Correction, you did rob me," said the Doctor, wagging a finger.

"And we knocked you out and tied you up," added Alicia.

The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "Some of my best friends try to kill me on a regular basis, when you get to my age it's like waving hello." Suddenly a thought struck him. "Say, how old are you too?"

Alicia held up a hand, stopping George from responding. "What's it to you?"

"Just a point of curiosity," he said causally. "To someone like me, all of you humans are like newborns; can't really tell you apart age-wise. But you two do seem a tad smaller than the usual company I keep."

"I'm nine and a quarter," blurted George, "and Alicia here's just gone on fourteen."

Alicia glowered at him.

"Oh come on sis, he's alright. After everything we put 'im through and he still risked his neck to pull our bacon outta the fire? I think he's one of the good ones."

Alicia frowned at her brother. He was so young. Yes, the streets had aged him beyond what was fair, but he was still fairly naïve; innocent. He didn't fully understand the dangers of the world. Not all of them. Alicia had seen good men before. Nice men. Friendly men. Men who dressed in fine clothes and wore big smiles. Men who would gladly use their station to take in a poor young thing and treat them to the finer things in life. But it always came at a price.

Alicia may have only been five years older than George, but in that time she had learned that there were no good men willing to help you out of the goodness of their heart. That's why she and George had to stick together; why she had to protect him from his own childish delusions.

"Say, what's what big dome over there?" The Doctor asked, pointing at a colossal building that stood tall over the rest of the city.

George cocked his head in confusion. "You tryin' to say you don't know the Weather Bureau when you see it?"

"I'm new in town," he said, "I didn't even know where I was going to end up when I stepped out the door, sort of a surprise mystery gift from my previous self. I was apprehensive when I first took the reins, but I have to admit that it's shaping up to be quite a nice debut adventure."

"Do you ever make sense?" asked Alicia.

"What? Oh, the accent, right. I know, it's going to take a bit of getting used to. It's Welsh, I think; third most difficult language in the universe, you know. Still, I've handled Scottish a few times, so I think I'll get there."

"That's not what I meant," grumbled Alicia.

"You know, I think I'd like to visit this Weather Bureau," said the Doctor, changing the subject.

"But you don't even know what it is," said George.

"True, but I find that the biggest building in town is usually a good place to start in these situations. Lots of scoundrels up to no good and people yelling orders that I can ignore. Besides, killer snow, Weather Bureau – there's a connection there, but my synapses just aren't firing at full speed yet, so it's taking a bit for me to see it. I mean, who needs a building that big, just to watch the weather?"

George and Alicia looked at each other.

"The WB doesn't just _watch_ the weather," said George.

The Doctor cocked his head, "Oh?"

"They control it," said Alicia.

"Oh," said the Doctor with a big grin. "Now I've definitely got to go there. Come along children."

With that, he started off through the snow…in the wrong direction. He realised this after a moment, corrected his self and turned around, heading in the right direction this time.

"Talk about a loon, eh Georgie?" Georgie?"

Alicia realised that her brother was already running to catch up to the Doctor.

"Right behind you Doc'!"

"Georgie!" she yelled. "Get back here this instant!"

Nothing.

She groaned and stamped her foot through the snow and to the cobblestones below.

"Fine! We'll go with you, but we're getting out of these raggedy clothes first!"

With that, she rushed off indignantly to catch up with her brother and the barmy Doctor.


	5. Chapter 5

In the Weather Bureau's central conference room, Klaus Kauffman was attending the weekly weather report. It was a stylish and modern room, as was the entire Weather Bureau building, a stark contrast to the antiquated fashions of the rest of Snowglobe 7.

Sat around the conference table were the seven members of the Bureau's board of directors, with Kauffman seated at the head of the table. The room was dark, with a projector displaying weather analytics on the wall, so that a nervous young intern meteorologist could walk them through the weather schedule for the week.

"And, um, finally, as you know," said the young man, consulting his notes, "tomorrow marks one week until the end of winter, so, um, we'll be increasing the daily average temperature by 0.5°C every day for the following week, and 2°C a day for the next two weeks after that, as we enter the scheduled spring period. Now-"

"No."

Everyone turned back to look at Kauffman, barely a silhouette in shimmering spectacles set against the projector.

"I, um, sorry Sir?" stammered the nervous intern.

"No," repeated Kauffman sternly. "I am authorising a seasonal delay of two weeks."

"T-two weeks…Sir? With all due respect, this is the third seasonal delay you've authorised this winter. Spring is already a month behind schedule."

The tension in the room was tactile; one could feel the board gasping silently under their breath.

Kauffman's chair squeaked as he slowly rose to his feet. He clasped his hands behind his back as he slowly made his way around the table, taking measured steps towards the front of the room.

"What's your name?" he asked the intern, standing directly in front of him, glowering from behind his glasses.

"Umm…umm…Michael," he stammered.

Kauffman nodded. "Been here long, have you?"

"Umm, this, this is my first week, sir."

Kauffman nodded again. "Long enough for you to know who I am though, correct?"

"Sir, I meant no disrespect, I-"

Kauffman silenced him with a wave of his hand. "That will be all, Michael. Return to your station and see to it that my wishes are carried out."

"Y-yes sir." Michael's face was awash with sweat as he collected his things, fumbling all the way out the door.

Kauffman smiled. That would leave an impression on the lad.

Suddenly there was a soft, musical tone coming from the vid-screen.

Kauffman frowned. He was about to yell at his secretary for allowing a call through during a meeting, but then he remembered that he'd yet to replace his recently deceased aide.

"For the love of all that is holy," he groaned in German, "who is calling during a closed meeting?"

He froze when he turned and saw the face on the vid-screen.

"Mr. President," he stammered upon seeing the square-jawed, mustachioed man with dark skin and a grey buzz cut, "I apologise, this is most unexpected."

The board members all straightened themselves, smoothing out creased clothing and stowing away their holo-phones.

"Yeah," drawled the president, "sorry for the interruption, but you've been evading me lately and this is the only way I knew I could get a hold of you." His face was set in a stern expression, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read Kauffman's reaction.

"Avoiding you?" Kauffman laughed. "Sir, I assure you I would never deliberately avoid you."

"Can it Klaus," snapped the president. "I didn't call to hear excuses and brown-nosing you snivelling sycophant."

Something somewhere deep inside Kauffman snapped, but he managed to keep it buried deep down, knowing that it would make it all the more sweet when the time came to let it out.

"Apologies Sir," he said, bowing.

The president nodded and then gave a nod of acknowledgement towards the other board members.

"Now, what's this business with the extra-long winter, Klaus? My office has been fielding complaints for weeks – apparently this was the coldest winter in the history of the Snowglobe system and now you're dragging it out for some God-forsaken reason."

"Well, Sir-"

"Uh-uh, not finished," interrupted the president.

Klauffman clenched his fists, hoping that the vein throbbing in his head wasn't too visible.

"Now on top of all the usual malarkey, I'm getting files on my desk about, what, killer snow? Homeless folks going missing without a trace? As if I didn't have enough on my plate, now I've got to worry about the great unwashed clamouring in the streets about government conspiracies and the culling of the lower-class. Care to weigh in on the issue, Klaus?"

Kauffman took a moment to let his heart-rate settle and his breathing to steady.

"Mr. President," he said with a touch of laughter, "surely you don't believe the paranoid ramblings of, of, how you say, umm…"

"Street-urchins?" offered his head of marketing.

"Ja, ja, street-urchins, gutter-snipes…these destitute vagrants who have fallen through the cracks of society due to their own laziness and unwillingness to be productive members of society. They want nothing more than to find a scapegoat for their plight. They choose to believe that the big, bad government is out to get them because it is easier than accepting the reality of their situation."

"Hmm…be that as it may Klaus, they're making a hell of a lot of racket about this, so I need to cover my ass – it's an election year. I want an investigation into this 'killer snow', got it?"

Klaus was furious, he'd never expected that buffoon of an ex-soldier to cotton-on, not this quickly anyway. Their plans were so close to fruition, he couldn't see them derailed now.

"Yes Sir, I 'got it'."

"Good," said the president with a nod. "And get this weather warmed up already. The sooner I can get down to New Malibu, the better. Moreton out," he said, signing off.

Kauffman stood in silence, his head bowed as he took deep breaths.

"Klaus?"

He looked over his should at his Chief Meteorologist, a gaunt woman in her fifties with hair that was fading from red to grey.

"Should we give the order to initiate a season change?"

Klaus took one more breath, then stood tall, smoothing out his clothes.

"No," he said with a degree of finality. "I want more snow. Now."

This elicited a chorus of chatter and even some vocal disagreements.

"Klaus, we can't!"

"Be reasonable, man!"

"You heard the president!"

He snapped.

"Hang the president!" he snarled, turning around, swatting a collection of files from the conference table, sending several glasses smashing to the floor along with them. Several people screamed and jumped to their feet.

"Klaus, that's enough!"

"No!" he barked. "We do not take orders from that oaf, I am in charge here!"

"No Klaus, I don't think you are," said his Vice-Chairman. "I think it's pretty clear that you can't control yourself, let alone the Weather Bureau. I'm calling for an emergency vote of no confidence."

"What?" hissed Klaus, his fingers digging into the table.

"All in favour of stepping Klaus Kauffman down from his position as Chairman of the Weather Bureau?"

Twenty-six hands raised into the air, some with more enthusiasm than others.

"All opposed?"

Not a single hand.

"That's settled then."

"You ungrateful swine," spat Klaus. "I built the Weather Bureau and the Snowglobe system. Without me, you'd all be dead along with the rest of this sunburnt husk of a planet. I-"

His tirade was interrupted as the doors burst open and the Ice Lady flew in, wailing in pain.

"My dear!" he called as he raced to her side, catching her as she began to fall. "My dear, what has happened?"

"What happened?" she howled as she swatted him away. "We were attacked," she growled.

Klaus didn't understand. "Attacked? But how? What do you mean?"

"There's a man out there who knows how to hurt us," she hissed. "He used a sonic weapon against us while we were feeding, severing scores of our number from the collective!"

Klaus held his arms out awkwardly, wanting to offer comfort but unsure how. "My dear, are you in pain?"

The hooded figure turned to him, the vague facsimile of a woman's face glared at him, before gripping his throat and hoisting him into the air.

"Perhaps I should rip one of your arms free from your body and see whether you feel pain."

Klaus kicked and struggled impotently as he gurgled and struggled to breathe. The board members were all screaming or trying to call security.

After a moment of watching him struggle, she threw Klaus to the ground. And turned her back on him.

An executive raced to Klaus' side, but he shooed him away. He rose to his feet, rubbing his throat. "I'm sorry my dear, that was a foolish question to ask. But tell me, who was this man? I'll have him dragged here on his knees and force him to beg for his miserable life."

"I know not who he was, but this is his face…"

A flurry of crystals flowed out from beneath her robe and began reflecting and refracting light to form a colour image of a face, eliciting shocked and confused murmurs from the board members.

"He is clearly a being of high intelligence," she said. "By human standards at least."

* * *

The Doctor groaned as he smacked his head into a wooden beam above the doorway. He winced as he touched it gingerly. "Doorway's a little low," he said.

"Never been a problem for us," George shrugged.

This house was much like the one where George had first taken him to Alicia, old and abandoned, but in reasonable condition. Definitely a fixer-upper, but the roof wasn't about to cave in any time soon.

The main difference was that this one seemed a little more lived in. Stubby wax candles that were nearly completely melted were scattered around the place; a small pile of firewood was stacked by the rusty old fireplace; empty food cans and other rubbish were strewn around the kitchen, and there were even a few personal effects here and there.

The Doctor stood in the living room, looking about with a smile on his face. "Lovely place you have here," he said without an ounce of sarcasm. He plopped down into an old armchair, but a rusty old spring caused him to jump back to his feet with a yelp.

"Now you just wait here a minute," said Alicia without any humour, "I'll just be getting out of these raggedy clothes, but you'd best not have any ideas about trying to spy on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said the Doctor, offended by the suggestion.

Alicia fixed him with an intense gaze but then turned away and grabbed her brother's hand. "Come on George, you're getting out of those clothes too and I'll fix you a hot bath while we're at it."

"What? Oh, come on sis!"

"I'll have no arguments, Georgie! You could've caught your death walking through the snow in those tattered clothes, we need to get you warmed up."

"Your sister's right Georgie," said the Doctor.

Alicia shot him another look so he didn't say another word.

"We shan't be a moment," she said sternly. "There's a wash cloth in the kitchen basin if you need it. If you're after the privy though, you can wait 'til we're done. Otherwise I'll ask you to wait here, thank you very much. And the floorboards creak, so I'll hear you if you try to sneak up the hall."

"Alicia, you really don't need…" but it was too late, she was already dragging George up the hall to the bathroom.

The Doctor sighed. Those poor children, he could only imagine what they'd been through, especially Alicia. She was far too young to be living with so many scars.

About twenty minutes later they returned in fresh clothes. Tattered, worn and dirty, but fresh. More or less.

"Ah, there you are!" said the Doctor, springing to his feet. "I was just having a rather splendid conversation with your roommate over there."

"Roommate?" queried Alicia before noticing the scruffy tabby cat that was sitting on the worn old recliner.

"That's Mr. Tibbles," said George. "He comes through from time to time, but he doesn't stay long."

"Oh, I know," he said, "He's lived the most extraordinary life; so many tales to tell. Though between you and me," he muttered, "I think he has a tendency to exaggerate just a little bit."

George and Alicia looked at each other, then Alicia looked at the cat, then at the Doctor. "It's a cat."

"Is he?" asked the Doctor, shocked. "Huh, that would explain a lot."

"You talk to cats?" asked George.

"Don't be daft, George. Nobody can talk to cats."

"Excuse me? I speak fluent feline, thank you very much. Although the 24th century Tabby dialects do trip me up a little, I must admit."

Mr. Tibbles, clearly tired of these people, jumped down and slinked away through a small hole in the wall.

"Give my regards to the Mrs.," called the Doctor, smiling.

He turned back to the children, they were both giving him the strangest look. "Well then," he said, clapping his hands together, "shall we be off then? Time to see what this Weather Bureau's really all about," he said with a mischievous smile. "Come along!"

With that he was heading for the door, full of fire and determination. Until he smacked his head into the doorway again.

* * *

"My dear, I have distributed the image of your attacker to security officers and sentry droids throughout the city," said Klaus. "We shall find him before long, don't you worry."

The Ice Lady's temper had calmed, but now she was standing – or, rather, hovering – deathly silent and barely moving. There was something deeply unnerving about her demeanour.

"This is madness, Klaus!" yelled a broad-shouldered executive with glasses and greying temples. Williams was his name. Or perhaps it was Johansen.

Several board members had attempted to flee, but the Ice Lady had used her frozen swarm to corral them and hold them in place.

Klaus didn't acknowledge the outburst. Rather, he took a step closer to his frozen mistress and whispered to her.

"I regret that your…untimely intrusion has introduced an unexpected complication, my dear. I'm afraid that our plans are not advanced enough yet for us to allow outsiders to know of your existence."

The Ice Lady's hood shifted, as if she were cocking her head.

"That's not a complication at all," she said. "My lunch was interrupted earlier, after all."

Klaus' eyes grew wide for a moment, but then he remembered how these people – his so-called colleagues and subordinates – had just betrayed him. Perhaps this turn of events had actually presented a golden opportunity. Time to repay the traitors in kind.

His face morphed into a wicked grin. "Guten appetit," he said.

Without a second's notice, there was a sudden rush of wind and he had to shield his face with his arms as he was buffeted by hundreds of thousands of carnivorous ice shards.

He opened his eyes and saw an empty cloak lying on the ground, his face positively beaming at the sound of more than two dozen blood-curdling screams.

8


End file.
